Orange
by truthandfireworks
Summary: Alfred takes it upon himself to nurture Katyusha back to health. Again.


He had only ever seen her this sick once before. Just when she was starting to gain weight and look like herself again, she got sick. And even though he was a hero and not a doctor, he knew he had to help, in any way that he could manage.

Alfred's jacket was on the ground, his boots in a heap beside the crumpled coat. They had been there, on the cold ground, for a week now; while Alfred ran around her drafty home, cleaning and cooking and fetching blankets and whatever she asked. It frightened him, one day, as he rubbed her back as she threw up, how much he bent over backwards to help her. Backwards wasn't enough really, he looked more like intricate piping. He twisted and tangled and on the outside, he looked fine but on the inside, there was a war waging.

She looked like she had all those years ago; when she was thin and pale and her eyes were surrounded by the darkest circles he had ever seen. He vowed then that he would rescue her – like any hero would. A simple act of heroics was nothing to change the world, but poor Alfred. Poor, simple-minded Alfred, hadn't even realized how much of his heart was put into his heroic act. He was going to go in, save the girl, save the world and celebrate with a burger afterwards. But it was when he brought Katyusha back home, when she insisted on making him something to eat when she, herself, had been starving for God knows how long. To see her hospitality and humanity, her fragility and her incredible strength. Poor, simple-minded Alfred had never taken that into account when he drew up his heroic plan.

She collapsed at the stove, as she cooked him special perogies – "They're stuffed like hamburgers! Beef and cheese and onion. Is that okay?" "Okay? I think you just asked me to marry you!" – and he scooped her up before she hit the floor. He carried her limp and nearly-lifeless body to her bed, covering her in blankets. His heart pounded in his chest, he could actually feel it clenching beneath his skin. She needed to eat, he thought as he ran to the kitchen. He grabbed the perogies she had made especially for him and held one to her mouth.

"Come on," he pleaded, poking the doughy food against her lips. "Please-"

She began to gag and Alfred wondered if the meaty-doughy, delicious smelling food was too much for her senses to handle, after having little to no food for so long.

"Katyusha, hang on," he pulled the plate away from her and walked back to the kitchen, shoving one perogie in his mouth as he searched her kitchen for something light to eat. And _my God_, he thought; it tasted exactly like a burger.

After a little searching, Alfred found a bowl of fruit and rushed back to her side.

The last time, he had fed her banana slices until she could lift her hand to put it on his knee. He had no idea how many bananas and apples he had sliced up within those first few days, it felt like hundreds.

If she was going to be sick, he lifted her to the bathroom. If she was shivering, he managed to find another blanket. Although, the one time, she was covered with every blanket and quilt and yet her body shook so violently that Alfred thought of no other solution for heat than setting her house aflame, which, in this case, he thought, was counterproductive.

He grabbed his jacket, pulled back all the blankets and sat her up. "It's the warmest thing I know," he kissed her forehead, zipping up his jacket to her chin. He frowned, he knew that his jacket shouldn't have been able to zip up all the way, but she had lost so much weight-

He slid in beside her, his jacket nuzzling her sunken-in cheeks, her eyes barely open. He wrapped his arm around her and piled the blankets on top of the pair of them. She wiggled her hand to his back and as hard as she could, which was barely at all, she held him against her.

Alfred could smell the banana on her breath and pulled closer to her. He often thought of that moment as when he fell in love with Katy. Although, if you were to ask Matt, he would say that Alfred fell in love with Katy the first time she wore a v-neck to a United Nations meeting.

But now, after all they had been through, she was sick again and all Alfred could find in Katy's house, that wasn't bread or meat or cheese, were oranges. She rested her head against his side, her mouth barely opening when he tapped her lip with a slice.

"Open up," he rubbed the orange segment against her lip. "This will make you feel better."

The scent of oranges seemed to have stained the room; the blankets, the curtains, their clothing, his jacket, even the inside of his boots smelled faintly of oranges. She was getting stronger with every bite, he was thankful her figure had not been sacrificed this time. The last time, he worried she would die. This time, he worried that she would recover and he would have to go home and that, eventually, she would forget about him.

"Alfred?" she rolled her 'r' and his heart nearly leapt out of his mouth.

"What's wrong, Katyusha?" he wrapped his arm around her, setting the orange on the nightstand. "Do you need something?"

She stretched up, groaning and aching and teary-eyed; Alfred could feel her bones and innards screaming out in pain. She tried to kiss him on the cheek, but her lips landed on his neck. She breathed heavily against his skin, tormented by the pain shooting through her body. "Please don't go."

He swallowed hard, lifting her chin gently, connecting their lips. Of course she tasted like oranges, he laughed behind his glasses, everything in here's freakin' covered in oranges.


End file.
